Guilty Pleasure
by caitthecursed
Summary: The only cure for over-achievement is bad music and painted-on jeans. Naruto/Sasuke pre-ship, high school AU. Rated T for language and aforementioned jeans.


"_Fuck!"_

The bow screeched against the strings. Sasuke resisted the urge to throw his violin out the window, instead setting it down next to him on the bed. He took a couple deep, shuddering breaths, then pitched himself sideways and buried another scream in his pillow.

This was not acceptable. He could accept getting an 83 on a math test, because that could be fixed in time for finals and forever hidden from his parents. He could accept struggling with the piece for his recital, because it was designed to show off his mastery of the instrument to the teachers who would write his recommendations for Juilliard. He could accept hating the piece with every fiber of his being, because at last count he'd played it 16,473 times trying to get the ending right.

What he could not accept was another fucking panic attack.

"Shit," he moaned, grasping fistfuls of his comforter. This was so far beyond acceptable it circled back to completely expected. It had been the kind of week built for anxiety disorders, what with getting the test back and snapping at Naruto again and having to fend off invitations to the impending semiformal. It was the kind of day that started with an elevated heart rate and inevitably ended with Sasuke curled shaking on his bed.

He shouldn't have had this reaction over something as stupid as being frustrated with violin. But it seemed like he was always frustrated with violin these days, a thought which revealed things he didn't dare shed light on. He dug his nails into his palms and sucked in another breath, letting the sting take some of the edge off his pounding heart.

If he was having anxiety attacks because of violin, he really needed to get laid.

"_Hey bastard! Pick up your fucking phone, or I'm calling your mom instead."_

Sasuke jumped a good six inches, causing his heart to nearly expel itself from his chest. He hauled himself upright and reached for his phone, trying to answer it with shaking fingers.

"What?" His voice sounded thick, grating painfully as if he'd been…shit.

"Sasuke? What's wrong? Are you crying?" Naruto sounded really worried, and another jolt of panic went through Sasuke at the thought of talking him down. He sank down against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Damn it, Naruto, I'm not crying." He tried to sound normal, but the tightness in his chest began to dissipate at the sound of Naruto's voice. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the loud rasp of Naruto's breathing on the other end.

"Shit. Is it that Romeo and Juliet thing? Because it sounded fucking incredible to me, but you seemed all tight-assed about it yesterday and I know how freaked out you are over that concert thing and the shit with algebra and I know you're Mr. Perfect A Student and everything, but an eighty-three is a fucking awesome grade to get on something. And I'm sorry I called you an assface."

Sasuke rested his chin on his knees. "It's okay. Sakura should've asked you in the first place. You're a way better dancer than I am."

"Wanna come out tonight and test that?"

Sasuke couldn't stop the hot flutter of excitement going through his chest. "I'll see you at ten."

—

The club was loud, smoky, and stank of beer and sweat. Sasuke's head throbbed in time with the music, his eyes stinging as the spotlight flashed rhythmically in his face.

"This band sucks ass," he shouted. Naruto wasn't paying attention. His eyes were glued to the front of the dance floor, where the female portion of the audience (as well as half the male portion and about a dozen Sasuke couldn't identify) had gathered to jump and writhe in self-conscious ecstasy. Naruto was watching the sea of undulating club kids, his body swaying almost accidentally. He had almost no sense of pitch, and couldn't sing to save his life, but his sense of rhythm was ridiculously good. It was completely infectious and, if Sasuke was being brutally honest, sexy as hell.

"You want to leave?" Naruto shouted, leaning over to yell in Sasuke's ear. His hand was warm on Sasuke's shoulder, and caused his already falling outer shirt to slip down to his elbow. Daytime Sasuke would have hastily covered his bare shoulder, but Nighttime Sasuke left the skin exposed. He thought he saw Naruto's gaze flick down to his bicep, but it was probably his imagination.

"I don't want to leave yet. We just got here."

Naruto shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "We should dance." He glanced down at his bright yellow skinny jeans. "If I'm gonna show off my unborn children, I don't want to be lounging against the wall like a cheap rent boy."

That was a bit rich, considering that Sasuke had spent forty-five minutes on his outfit and Naruto had dressed from his bedroom floor. But somehow, Naruto's t-shirt clung perfectly to his lean muscles and brought out the warm tones in his skin. He looked perfectly at ease, the lights from the disco ball shining in his eyes.

"Do you want to find somebody?" Sasuke asked, following Naruto's gaze to where a girl in tight black leather was swiveling her hips. Naruto looked at Sasuke, then back to the girl. He smirked and clutched Sasuke's wrist.

"Don't be stupid. Tonight is for you and me. Besides, what kind of hipster would I be if I didn't have a cute Asian to dance with?"

Sasuke opened his mouth to protest, unsure whether he was more offended by racial objectification or by being called cute. But then the song changed to something with an actual beat, and that beat began working its way through Naruto's body, and all Sasuke's protests flew straight out of his head.

For eighty percent of every day, Sasuke refused to admit that he was in love with his best friend. Naruto's entire identity was built on the fact that he was scrawny, obnoxious, and acted far more stupid than he actually was. The developments of the past year—namely, the sudden sprouting of muscles and a mysteriously obtained reputation as an expert in cunnilingus—had steadily nudged Naruto out of the box of "like a brother" and towards something that made Sasuke vaguely sick to his stomach.

It hurt to want Naruto more than Naruto wanted him, so he usually didn't think about it. But every so often, on a night when the heat and smoke and sweat made him feel more alive, when the shitty music hit a place where he could move to it and the crowds pushed them into the same tiny spot on the dance floor, loving Naruto made him feel complete.

Because really, it was impossible to not love Naruto. He owned the dance floor, grinning brilliantly at Sasuke and letting his body rock. He probably didn't mean to look as erotic as he did, but Sasuke knew what it felt like when music replaced the blood in his veins. Naruto moved like his whole body pulsed with it, closing his eyes and rolling his neck and looking halfway between nirvana and orgasm.

He was everything Sasuke couldn't let himself be, and everything Sasuke had ever needed. And Sasuke would be damned if he'd let sex take that away from him.

Naruto's hands were suddenly warm against Sasuke's waist, pulling him away from the overenthusiastic dancers grinding behind them. They stayed pressed together for a long moment, Naruto's body strong and alive against him, and it was hard to remember what he'd been anxious about that morning.


End file.
